


we've come so far

by finalizer



Series: home [2]
Category: Villains Series - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Gen, basically in the face of feelings victor.exe stops working, post-Vengeful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-20 13:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20676053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalizer/pseuds/finalizer
Summary: In which Sydney accidentally calls Victordad, Victor does a poor job of handling his emotions, and Mitch wishes he had a bowl of popcorn to watch it all go down.





	we've come so far

**Author's Note:**

> psa: all my post-vengeful fics are set in the same fun au-verse where victor fixes his little dying problem and comes back to his family. just to be clear. in this house we stan happy endings

It wasn't that Sydney was not allowed to go outside on her own. She was simply discouraged from doing things that put her at risk. 

And the way Victor saw it, goddamn _everything_ was a risk. 

He tried to rationalize it, of course. He was still on EON’s radar—he _had_ to be, after everything. Even more so since he’d taken up his hobby of systematically dismantling what was left of the organization. It was bloody and it was glorious and it painted a bright red target smack-dab in the middle of his chest, and by extension on the people closest to him. Mitch was in danger. Sydney was in danger. Chances were, they even had eyes on the damn dog. 

So, it wasn't that Sydney _couldn’t_ go out alone, just that Victor’s blood pressure skyrocketed whenever she did.

He was doing a god-awful job at keeping his promise, he knew this. Rather than keep Sydney out of danger, he was inadvertently throwing them all back into the fray. He’d left what was practically a signed confession letter in Stell’s apartment at the start of it all. But they hadn't gone after him yet. There was no retaliation, no threats, no snipers on the roof on the opposite street. That fueled the paranoia. Eventually, they would strike, and Victor could only pray to a god he didn't believe in that when they did, they would leave the people he loved out of it. 

The flood of relief, whenever Sydney went out and came home safely, was like a punch to the gut.

He was on his feet before the door closed behind her.

“Where were you?” he asked. The words were sharp and he tried to keep his tone conversational to balance it out, and failed spectacularly.

Sydney lifted her head to frown at him. She’d crouched to untie her sneakers. Dol, tired from his walk, ignored Victor’s question entirely and pattered over to curl up in a patch of sunlight by the window.

“The park,” Sydney said. “Didn’t Mitch tell you?”

Though he was well aware of Victor’s concerns, Mitch, personally, wasn't as adamant about keeping Sydney cooped up indoors. Victor’s note had been ambiguous enough, and Cardale was too dead to point the authorities in the right direction this time around. At Victor’s request, he’d hacked what needed hacking; there was nothing to suggest they were being watched. Whether EON was too incompetent or too weakened to track them, he didn’t know. But they seemed to be in the clear.

“I did tell him,” Mitch said.

He _had_ told Victor, an hour ago, when Victor had come back from running errands (whatever that meant), and Victor had tensed up like somebody had told him his parents were dead (which, honestly, wouldn't have affected him as badly, if at all). 

Now, Mitch sat at the kitchen bar, halfheartedly poking around his pudding cup with a tiny spoon. Sydney was by the door, toeing off her shoes. Victor was by the couch, ready to interrogate her, even though he already knew the whole story.

Mitch was smart. He knew Victor, and Sydney, and that he had to give them the opportunity to blow off some steam. If he didn’t, they’d be at each other’s throats for days.

“I’d like to hear it from you,” Victor told her evenly. 

Sydney huffed.

“I was at the park with Dol. I didn’t go any further than the tree-line by the brook. Nobody followed me and nobody looked at me funny,” she recited, tragically used to this routine by now. “I didn’t practice necromancy in public. I was cautious and responsible. And you have a hole in your sock.”

Victor looked down, then back up with a scowl.

“This isn't funny, Syd.”

“It’s fine.”

Victor tensed. “You don't know that. I can’t guarantee it’s going to be safe here forever. I need you to—”

“But it _is_ safe,” Sydney insisted. “We’re not being hunted. Mitch says so. Don’t you trust him? It’s like, you should be happy that it’s all over and instead you’re breaking your neck to find yourself more problems. All you do is sit there and look for conflict because you can’t stand it when it’s too quiet!”

Mitch put his spoon down slowly. Sometimes, when push came to shove, Sydney fired back as good as she got.

He was torn between intervening and staying out of it, between walking over to nudge the two of them into a much-needed hug, or reaching into the cupboard over the microwave for a bag of popcorn to snack on as he watched the rest of the friendly argument play out. 

Victor took a shaky breath. He was on the verge of losing his temper. 

“There’s—I don’t want—”

And he trailed off, closed his eyes to compose himself. 

Mitch considered this. He could wait a little longer before stepping in. In the meantime, Victor could go the extra mile, get the words out, learn how to say what he was really feeling instead of lashing out and hiding away. 

“—you shouldn't be drawing attention to yourself,” Victor finished lamely.

Because, of course, being honest with himself and with them was still too much. What Victor meant to say and what came out were as far apart as two things could be. _‘You shouldn't be drawing attention to yourself’ _really meant _‘I don't want you to get hurt’. ‘You have to be more careful’_ meant _‘I can’t lose you’._

Affection didn't come naturally to him, that much was obvious, but there was something to be said for effort, and Victor ran from vulnerability like it would kill him to say he _cared_.

Sydney mirrored Victor’s earlier scowl. The resemblance was truly uncanny, which was convenient enough when Victor had to pass as Sydney’s biological father for some reason or other, but scary when Mitch found himself surrounded by _two of them._

“I said, I wasn't practicing,” she said. “I said I wouldn't do it with people around, and I won’t. I’m not an idiot. I’m not a little kid anymore. Why’s that so hard to understand? Why can’t you just trust me?”

Victor faltered again.

“I do trust you.”

Sydney didn't wait for him to continue. “You have a shit way of showing it. I don’t like how this place is starting to feel like a prison. You don't give me any room to breathe. You snoop into my business like you need to double check everything I do. And I’ve never lied to you. And I’m careful, like you tell me to be. And I pay attention to my surroundings, like you tell me to. No one is after us. Nobody is chasing us. You’re just overreacting and being—like that.”

“Like what, exactly?”

Abruptly, his tone dropped, low and dangerous; the air around him seemed to hum. Victor would never harm Sydney, this they all knew, but every so often he had to be reminded that he was a force to be reckoned with when he went too far. He never yelled, never raised his voice. He didn't need to because he knew there were simpler ways to bend people to his will.

It was that horrible numbness, the complete apathy in his voice that used to frighten Sydney most, that chilled her to the bone, despite every promise Victor made to always be on her side.

_“Victor,”_ Mitch warned, before things were said and done that everyone would later regret. One word, loud and clear and grounding, to snap him out of it.

Victor blinked. Sydney was standing very still.

He flinched, coming back to himself, a clumsy apology on the tip of his tongue. But Sydney spoke first. Sydney, who was no longer afraid of _anything_. 

“Like an asshole.”

Mitch nearly snorted in surprise. Of course Victor’s dramatics no longer scared her. Now, she was pissed off. She was a kid who wanted to be grown up and he was someone standing in her way.

“Wanting to keep you safe makes me an asshole?”

“Keeping me locked up like this does.”

“I’m not—” 

Victor’s voice broke then. Mitch looked up sharply from his half-empty dessert and Sydney fell utterly silent.

It was no secret that Victor enjoyed being at the center of attention, but that didn't extend to his heart being laid bare.

He froze when he realized there were two sets of eyes on him now, waiting for him to speak, to hear all about what went on in his head. His muscles screamed at him to turn and walk away. They would forget about his antics and move on, carry on like everything was peachy, until the next time he snapped.

It was simple. He would rather allow what he felt to suffocate him than admit to weakness. Weakness gave people a way in, and there were plenty of people out there waiting eagerly for something to use against him. And he couldn't let that happen. He could not let himself admit that he needed them. He had to stay quiet and he had to let them hate him for it. There was no other way to keep them safe.

But he didn't say that. He stood his ground. He forced out the truth.

“I worry about you.”

Sydney’s eyes went wide.

Dol made a snuffly sound from the back of the room, like hadn't seen this coming, either. 

“If you got hurt and it was my fault, if didn’t protect you like I swore I would, I don’t—I don’t know what I’d do.”

He was talking quickly, stumbling over the words like they were foreign, in another language, like he would lose his nerve if he paused for breath.

“If I let my guard down and something happens to you, Syd, something I could have prevented if I just—”

Everything about him seemed to tremble. He huffed a bitter laugh.

“I promised you I wouldn't let you suffer for my actions. I’m not doing too great, am I?”

Sydney seemed to curl in on herself. She hadn't expected Victor to respond with such raw sincerity, or any degree of sincerity at all. She was used to jabs, dismissive and defensive. Those, she understood.

“It’s fine,” she mumbled.

“I don’t meant to be overbearing.”

Sydney regarded him, a little frown creasing the space between her eyebrows.

“Well,” she said, “then, yeah, you’re not doing so great.”

It was flippant. It was fond. They were okay. It hadn't been a fight, not really.

Victor took a breath. The weight was off his shoulders but a steady pressure bubbled in his chest in its stead; he wasn't done yet. Mitch had always told him to be open with Sydney. She deserved the truth—he _owed_ her the truth.

The words clawed their way up his throat.

Victor met her eyes from across the room. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Sydney looked distinctly uncomfortable. It was all fun and games until the superhuman teenager in the room decided she’d had her fill of heartwarming nonsense and ran away from all the theatrics.

“I know,” she said quickly. 

“If I get on your nerves, tell me. If I say something stupid—”

“Everything you say is stupid.” 

They had reached the point, as far as their touching conversations went, where the sincerity got too awkward and somebody had to crack a joke before the tension boiled over and flooded the room. Sydney, for one, had clearly reached her limit. 

Mitch finished his pudding but didn't dare to get up to throw the cup away. There were moments that weren't meant to be interrupted. This was one of them. He was proud—of Victor for opening up, of Sydney for sticking around to listen for as long as she did. 

Victor took a tiny step forward, then faltered, like he meant to give Sydney space by doing so literally. He swallowed thickly. 

“Syd, I mean it. I _am_ sorry. If there’s ever anything wrong, please tell me. I’ll—let you breathe. I’ll do better. I just want you to be safe.”

“Dad, _I get it.”_

Victor opened his mouth to keep going—then the words registered and his jaw clamped shut. He fell impossibly, inhumanly still.

The world stopped spinning. Mitch looked slowly between Victor, his gears turning, and Sydney, mouth opening and closing as her brain caught up with her mouth.

She swallowed, clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides; her forehead creased deeply as she considered the situation. And then she _changed_, stood up straighter, taller. What was done was done. She tilted her chin up and stared Victor down, almost defiantly, as if to say, _your move._

Victor lacked her levity. He lacked her distance. He was too reserved to roll with the punches, to match whatever game she was playing.

“Just be careful,” he said. A moment later, he added a haggard, “Please.”

Briefly, it seemed as though he meant to go on, but he said nothing. He tore his gaze from Sydney and looked at the floor. He couldn't look at Mitch—Mitch could read his mind with one single glance; Victor didn't need that now. He turned, stumbled, and disappeared down the hall to the bedroom.

Sydney watched him go. It felt right to stop him, to call him back, but she didn't know how. 

Haltingly, she turned to Mitch. He met her gaze, his lips in a tight line as he triedvaliantly not to smile at the absurdity of the situation. Sydney failed to match his self-control. Her face twisted into a grin and, moments later, Mitch mirrored her expression as if it were contagious. It took a great deal of effort to keep from bursting out laughing. 

Because Victor would assume they were poking fun at _him_. He would hear the soft hum of laughter from the kitchen and take it personally. He would absolutely find a way to take it personally.

This thing between them, the three of them, was new; it was familiar and warm but still fragile. And especially so for Victor, who hadn't come back until recently, only once he’d conquered death itself and gotten his affairs in order. He wasn't used to being wanted, needed, loved unconditionally. In turn, he didn't know how to offer any of that to others. It would take time. He was afraid, even if he didn't let on, that he would ruin everything before he even really got to be a part of it. 

Sydney and Mitch knew this. They knew _him_, they knew he struggled with people, with how they worked; it was as simple as that. He was struggling, but he was trying. They had to give him time. 

Mitch tore his eyes away from Sydney and swiveled around to toss away his pudding cup. The lid of the garbage bin shut with a metallic clang.

When he turned back to her, Sydney was halfway across the room, slumping onto the couch where Victor had sat earlier.

They stared each other down over the counter. Sydney’s expression was carefully blank. She was thinking about her slip-up, and trying not to be too obvious about it.

Mitch broke the silence before she worried herself into a fuss.

“I downloaded _Detective Pikachu_. Want to watch?”

She blinked. A light went on behind her eyes. With a sudden, wide smile, she nodded.

Mitch congratulated himself on always knowing the right thing to say—for a cursed man, he was faring pretty well. 

He rinsed his spoon, toweled off his hands, and opened the cupboard over the microwave. 

“You go wash up. I’ll make the popcorn.”

He gave Sydney a once-over to assess the state of her clothes—what she got up to with Dol on their walks was beyond him—and blanched at the sight of her mud-splattered socks.

“—And take those off, Syd, what the hell.”

With a performative roll of her eyes, Sydney peeled off the socks and waved them around to show Mitch how perfectly obedient she was.

She swerved towards the bathroom, but stopped before she made it a single step. Hesitantly, she frowned up at Mitch, bottom lip between her teeth. She had something to say, a demand to make, a question to ask, but did not know how to go about it—it was a very _Victor_ expression, one of the many things she’d picked up from him.

Mitch, of course, understood. 

She wanted something that, given the current circumstances, only Mitch could arrange. Some_one_, who only Mitch could talk down from an anxiety-ridden meltdown, who only Mitch could sweet-talk into cutting short his melodramatic alone-time, into coming out of his self made prison for long enough to watch a movie with his family.

With a fond smile, he cocked his head in the direction of the bathroom, as if to say _go on._

“And I’ll go get Victor.”

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/finaIizer) & [tumblr](https://tarmairons.tumblr.com)


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